Come Dancing (13 page)

”Your fish all right?” he asked.

“It’s delicious.” I managed to choke down one more bite. Jack pushed his plate aside and signaled for the check. We walked through the kitchen and into the waiting car.

“Thanks for dinner.” I forced myself to smile. “I’m going to head home.” Sleeping with him was a mistake, after all. I didn’t want to be just another mark on his scratching post.

Jack looked surprised. “Aren’t you coming back with me?”

“My laundry’s piling up. If I don’t get some things clean, I’ll have to wear tie-dye to the office.”

“I’ve always thought tie-dye was under-rated.” He slid his arm around me and pulled me closer. I was mad at myself for being so tempted.

“I’d better not. I haven’t gotten anything done this weekend.”

“You were doing me this weekend.” He smiled. Suddenly he leaned in and kissed me. I couldn’t stop myself from responding to his tongue, his fingers caressing my breast. Maybe one more time… I could be facing another long, dry spell after this. If only I could be detached, like Vicky.

“I guess I can come for a little while.”

Jack squeezed my thigh. “Good. Hang a left, Rick.”

“So … there’s this one woman I was seeing before,” Jack said when we got inside. “We only went out for a couple of months, and I was seeing a few other girls too. I broke it off with her several weeks ago.”

I was glad to hear this, but I doubted he’d stopped seeing her that long ago. Maybe he just never cleaned his brush.

“As you probably gathered, her name’s Nicole. I’d heard she had a few slates loose, but she kept coming after me. At a certain point I figured, why not. Sammy warned me about her though. He had a sense.”

I waited, not knowing what to say.

“Compared to you, her brain’s the size of a pea.”

I smiled faintly. “So mine must be … a soybean?”

“Listen, here’s why I’m telling you this. She’s the one who keeps calling and calling. She’s saying …” He paused, looking annoyed. “I know this isn’t true. But she is saying she’s pregnant.”

My spirits sank. I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see I was upset. If someone was having his baby now, I knew I couldn’t have anything to do with him.

“Hey, I know she’s not. I used a wrapper every time, and I was very careful. She’s just trying to get money from me. I’ve sent her some, only to get her to go away.” He sighed. “She was scheduled to go to a doctor with Mary Jo for a pregnancy test so I could prove it, but she blew it off. She’ll leave me alone as soon as she gloms onto someone else.”

I recalled the picture of the boy on his dresser. Was he having children left and right with various women? “You’re pretty sure she isn’t?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, thanks for mentioning it.” He seemed sincere, unless he was an extremely gifted liar. But this Nicole situation meant there was no telling what else was going on with him.

“Don’t give it another thought.” Jack reached for me and undid my blouse. He took my bra clasp in his teeth and bit it open. “I kept picturing what you’d look like under those second-hand clothes,” he said, glancing up at me. “For once, even my imagination didn’t do it justice.”

Walking on the Moon

Heading in to work Monday I was a little achy—but in a good way. At ten, Erin stopped by. “I tried you several times Saturday to see if you wanted to go to the Pyramid Club. Were you sick?”

“I spent most of it in bed.” At least it wasn’t a lie.

“All right, back to the grind. Let’s catch lunch one day.”

Late in the afternoon, the receptionist called to say I had something in the lobby. To my surprise, a huge bouquet was standing on the front desk. I took it back to my room and tore off the tissue paper. The zig-zag handwriting on the note thrilled me: “I had a good time—Jack.” Gigantic purple globes on thick green stalks emerged from the wrapping; they looked like something that had grown on the moon.

Edgar stuck his head in as I tucked the note into my bag. “Someone has a creative mind.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“They’re alliums, my dear. A member of the onion family. So much more interesting than the usual run-of-the-mill nosegays.”

“Thanks, I think so too.” I shut my door and dialed Jack’s number.

“Oh … hello.” He seemed surprised to hear from me. I heard a voice in the background.

“These flowers are amazing. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“I figured they were more original than roses. No, in the other drawer,” he said to someone there. I couldn’t make out her reply.

“Well … thanks again.” I hung up, wishing I hadn’t called. Who was that at his apartment? Obviously another woman. Already this was tearing me up inside.

Several people came by, either asking what the occasion was or trying to find out who’d sent the bouquet. I was a little embarrassed by the attention, but also proud that I had someone who liked me. At least for two nights in a row. Now I was wondering how I rated compared to the girl he’d had with him today.

At nine I tottered out of the building and headed down Park Avenue in the humid midsummer air. My thoughts simmered over to Jack. All day I’d felt as if the entire weekend was a figment of my imagination. But then I’d look at the moonflowers, proof that we’d really been together. I wondered if he’d thought about me at all. Every time I took my head out of the typewriter, I saw an image of his dark eyes, his unruly mane of hair, the feel of sinews jumping in his back. My belly twisted when I remembered his hands roving all over my body; his seeming hunger for me. Maybe that was Nicole over there today; maybe he was lying about her not being pregnant. Or maybe it was an entirely different girl—like the one who’d copped a feel at Patrick’s party.

“The check was mailed last Friday,” I told the agent the next morning, neglecting to say that I was the one who sent out the checks. I took some jacket copy in for Harvey to sign off on. He hung up the phone, wove his stubby fingers together and gazed at me with his icy blue eyes.

“I mentioned to Briar that you’re going after Isabel Reed, and she’s come up with her own celebrity idea. Pryce Rayner may be getting ready to spill the beans. She got to know his manager when she was at
TownTalk
.”

Rayner was an actor who specialized in cheesy sheriff car chases, and who’d recently been involved in a messy fourth divorce. I thought he was a little past his prime, but apparently Harvey didn’t. “I don’t think he’s any more current than Isabel,” I said. “He hasn’t had a hit movie in several years.”

“Oh, he still has a huge fan base, especially now that he’s joined the ranks of the religious right. He’s had quite the spiritual conversion since he dried out, which always makes for good reading. Briar was telling me all about it over drinks last night.”

What a sleaze. He isn’t hot for Pryce Rayner; he’s hot for Briar
.

“I think Isabel’s book would be a bigger draw. Don’t women’s memoirs usually do better than men’s?” I knew this was true from following the bestseller list.

He waved off my comment. “Depends on who the author is. But maybe you can convince me if we discuss it after hours. I find it hard to concentrate with the phones ringing off the hook. And you know, Julia …” He paused and gave me a cold little smile. “I only have room to promote one of you. So I guess you’ll have to do your best to win me over.”

At home, I drank two beers in a row to calm my rattled nerves. All day I couldn’t focus on anything but Briar’s unfair advantage. If only I’d been allowed to acquire one of the projects I’d pitched before she was hired. If only Isabel had a complete manuscript, instead of a paltry handful of badly written pages about her childhood.

I picked at the beer label and tried to think. If Briar got promoted, Harvey would have no need for a second junior editor. With the industry-wide recessionary hold on hiring, my foray into publishing would be over. And there was no other reason for me to be in New York, as tough as it was to get by here. The thought of losing my hard-won toehold in the city—and like Vicky’s friend Daphne, having to move back home—was utterly depressing. I pictured myself living with Dot again in Pennsylvania, and doing what? Teaching, I guessed, until I could save up enough money to move somewhere else. Everyone would know I’d tried to make it in the city, and failed. It was the bleakest future I could imagine.

To make matters worse, I hadn’t heard from Jack. I had the sinking feeling that our weekend fling was just that. The flowers must have been his way of thanking me for the sex. Their faint odor made my stomach churn, so I’d moved them to the top of my bookshelf. He was probably already into his new conquest—most likely a model who’d be much more erotically experienced, and therefore more pleasing to him.

I’d been so stupid; the naïve small-town girl who thought she could hold the interest of a jaded guy like Jack for more than one weekend. I’d tried so hard to avoid this situation, but here I was, bolting for the phone and crushed every time it wasn’t him—like I was channeling Dot. I hadn’t had a free minute to do my laundry, and the traces of his scent on my one set of sheets made me even more miserable.

When the phone rang Wednesday night, I ran to it, thinking it might be Jack. Instead, a voice from the past sounded in my ear.

“Julia. It’s Art. How have you been?”

I leaned against the fridge for support. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve been trying your number for a while. Have you been away?”

“I work late most nights.” Chills ran up and down my arms.
What does he want with me after all this time?

“How’s your job going?” he asked.

“It’s going well. How about you?” I squeaked out.

“The teaching’s pretty routine. I’m trying to finish a paper that’s due to be published in the spring.” Art cleared his throat. “Phoebe and I wound up not staying together. We just never clicked again after the separation.”

I could barely think, my mind was spinning so fast. He hadn’t gotten back with his wife after all? “How long have you been … apart from her?”

“About a month. This time we’re filing for divorce.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Definitely. It’s over. So … are you seeing anyone?”

This gave me pause. “I’ve just started seeing someone,” I said noncommittally.

“I’d like to get together anyway, to catch up. You’ve been on my mind. Could we meet for coffee?”

It took me months to get over him. Do I really want to start all that up again?
“I’m pretty backed up with editing. Maybe in a few weeks?”

“All right, Julia. I’ll call you in a while.”

I kept my hand on the receiver for a moment, feeling unstrung. After everything Art had put me through, he hadn’t even stayed with his wife. All this time we could have been together; all my pain and insecurity could have been avoided. I wouldn’t have even met Jack—which would have been a good thing, now that he’d dropped me like a hot potato.

The following night I realized dismally that I’d have to try to forget I’d ever known Jack. I changed into my cutoffs, and jumped to grab the phone.

“Sorry, it’s not who you’re hoping.”

“Hi, Vicky.” I sank onto the couch.

“So he still hasn’t called. Let’s go out Saturday. You can’t sit around moping all weekend.”

“Who says I can’t?” I wasn’t in the mood to go out. I didn’t care if I never met anyone else again. What was deeply meaningful to me had meant nothing to him. It was just as awful as when Art had broken up with me.

“Julia. You have to get over this bad habit of feeling attached to someone just because you’ve had sex,” Vicky admonished me. “Think of it purely as entertainment—you had a good time, and so did he. End of story. Now you can meet another guy who’ll rock your socks off. And maybe the next one will stick around for more than a weekend, unlike this asshole.” She muttered the last part under her breath.

“Thanks for the advice. I wish I was better at taking it.” I glanced at the window unit; yet another painful reminder.

“Listen, I know you fell hard for Jack. Who could blame you—he’s one of the sexiest men in the universe. And let’s not forget that he really led you on. It’s kind of unfair the way he waited to put the move on you, like it was a marriage proposal or something.”

“Actually I think that makes me feel even worse.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just venting. I’m really pissed off about this. I don’t like my best girlfriend to get hurt. Don’t think it’s just you; Sammy rarely calls me either. He mostly shows up whenever he wants to score. Should I say something to him about Jack?”

“Oh, no! Promise me you won’t.” I didn’t want to join the ranks of clingy, whiny, needy predecessors like Nicole.

“You’re right; no sense in letting the bastard know you’re pining for him. I’ll come over Saturday and if you aren’t up for going out, we’ll drink our troubles away at your place. I’ll even let you play some of your blues, so we can feel even more fucked-up and depressed.”

I smiled for the first time in days. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry. If I ever get my heart broken, you can return the favor.”

Late Friday afternoon I was staring at the pile of paper in my inbox when the phone rang. There was so much noise in the background, I could hardly hear.

“—crazy week,” Jack was saying.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Nervously I doinged the cord.

“I’ve been stuck in the studio ‘til all hours,” he said more loudly. “Are you around tonight? Mark and Suzanne want to go to a gallery opening together, and then grab dinner.”

All this week I’ve been miserable, just because he couldn’t take two minutes to call me?
It was so unfair—but I was so excited. “Yes!” I exhaled and tried to calm down. “I’m around.”

“Hang on … What? I’m coming,” he said to someone there. “Pick you up at eight.”

“Wait, me or—?” The line was dead.

I hung up in a daze.
So he does want to see me again, after all!
I paced my tiny office, wanting to scream and jump up and down. Momentarily I wondered if I should go home after dinner instead of going back to his place—maybe I shouldn’t be too sexually available. But I knew I didn’t have enough self-control for that; I couldn’t wait to feel his hands on me, his lips on me … I shut my eyes, picturing how our bodies would fit together.